


Jealous

by BeckyHarvey29



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Cute Boys Making Each Other Jealous, First Love, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Jealous Ian Gallagher, Jealous Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, Unrequited Love, season 3ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:38:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeckyHarvey29/pseuds/BeckyHarvey29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mickey is released from his second stint in juvie, he comes home to find that Ian didn't wait around for him this time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Have I Lost You

Ian grabbed a fistful of brown hair and tugged aggressively as he pounded in and out of the other guy's mouth, not really caring if he was going too deep or pulling too hard. All he wanted was to come so fucking hard down that throat and release the tension that was tightening in his groin.

He wasn't really receiving any complaints from the boy on his knees, so he tugged a little harder. He groaned deep in his throat as he neared the edge. "Fuck yeah, feels so fucking good," he gasped right before shooting his hot load down the guy's throat. "Fuck," he groaned when he was spent, and then slumped back against the wall behind him, holding onto a shelf for leverage. "That was fuckin’ hot."

The guy stood up, wiping at the corner of his mouth with a proud grin. He didn't say anything, just stepped forward and kissed Ian hotly, their tongues tangling through Ian's come.

"You _taste_   amazing."

Ian smiled and ran a hand over his sweaty face. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to tasting his own come, but—in the moment—it was fucking hot; and he was all into kink these days. He found that the sex he had these days was a lot less emotionally invested and a lot rougher—he had a lot of pent up anger and frustration built up.

"We should get back up front before Linda notices," Ian said, pulling up his pants. "She's been on my ass all week, I'm tryin’ to stay on her good side."

They both zipped up, straightened their shirts, and exited the cooler. Ian walked to the front of the Kash and Grab and unlocked the door before turning to his boyfriend. "I'll call you later?"

Tyler, his boyfriend of just over a month—a junior from school—smiled and leaned in for another quick kiss. "Call and I'll answer."

Ian kissed him back, his eyes still closed when they finally pulled apart. He opened his eyes and watched as Tyler left, a small corny smile etched on his lips. It was nice to be able to kiss someone without the fear of getting punched in the face. He turned the OPEN sign back around and then went back to his stool behind the cash register, eager to get the rest of his shift over with. Between school, ROTC, work and having a boyfriend, he was exhausted most days.

He grabbed his clipboard and was intent on starting the daunting task of inventory. The chime above the door pierced through the quiet and he lifted his eyes, intent on greeting the customer with the prerequisite fake smile. The smile barely made it to his lips before deflating.

"Mickey?"

Mickey Milkovich strolled into Kash and Grab as if nothing had changed, as if he hadn't been in juvie for the past six months.

"What's up, Gallagher." Mickey walked over to the Slim Jims and grabbed one. Without bothering to pay for it—like old times—he tore the wrapper open with his teeth, spit the piece of wrapper out, and then tore a chunk of the meat off, all the while his eyes bore heavily on Ian.

Ian gripped onto the edge of the counter, afraid if he didn't, he'd tumble right off his stool. He couldn't believe Mickey was standing right in front of him. After nearly five months of pining, agonizing, and losing sleep over him, here Mickey was, standing there as if he'd never left. "I thought you had another four months to go?"

"Got out for overcrowding, or some shit," Mickey explained coolly. He then walked closer to the counter, taking another bite. "So, what you been up to, Gallagher?"

Ian looked at him warily, intent on not letting the other boy affect him; no matter how good he looked, how buff he had gotten, or how fucking incredible he smelled. He had made a promise to himself to never let Mickey Milkovich get to him ever again. "Really? After leaving the way you did, that's really how you want to start this conversation?"

Mickey shrugged as he took another bite of his Slim Jim. "What's there to say? I went to kill Frank and got busted by the fucking pigs before I even reached the deadbeat."

"No, I mean about us, about… _shit_ ," Ian said, tearing his eyes from Mickey's and running a hand over his closely-shaven head. He really didn't want to get into this with Mickey. It was water under the bridge. He had moved on. He had.

"Look, I honestly just came to see if you wanted to fuck for old time's sake, not rehash some childish crush you had on me," Mickey said smugly.

Ian stared back at Mickey, his chin jutting out. "Fuck you, Mickey. Go find someone else to fuck. I'm not going to be your…what did you call me? Your _warm mouth_?"

Mickey sighed and tilted his head a little with a smirk. "Fuck, are you still on that?"

"Get the fuck out, Mickey."

"A’ight, calm down, fireball."

"Get out."

Mickey held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Fucking chill. I get it if you don't want to bang anymore, what the fuck ever. Since I can't have your cock in my ass, can you at least see if Linda can maybe give me my old job back? My options around here are a little limited."

"Are you fuckin’ kidding me?"

"I really need a job or—"

"—Or your probation officer will have your ass. We've already been through this before," Ian said hotly, not in the mood for any of this. "Remember? From the first time I bailed your ass out."

"Look, are you going to help me out or not, assface?"

"Fuck you, Mickey," Ian said, crossing his arms across his solid chest. He noticed the way Mickey was looking him over, no doubt noticing how much he had filled out in the past six months.

Mickey dropped his eyes from looking at Ian's toned arms and looked down at the ground, his demeanor softening. "Look, Gallagher…I was a dick, alright?"

Ian finally relaxed a little when he realized that Mickey did, in fact, hold at least a little remorse about the whole situation. He knew it was the most apology he was ever going to get. He then sighed, rolled his eyes, and stood up. "Fine, I'll talk to Linda. But if you're going to work here, there has to be some conditions."

"What the fuck? There wasn't any conditions before," Mickey said hotly, his face scrunched in irritation.

"Well, there's fucking conditions now, so either accept them or go somewhere else."

"Fine. What the fuck ever. What are your conditions?"

"You get here when you're supposed to be here, not whenever the hell you feel like showing up." On Mickey's aggravated nod and go-the-fuck-on hand signal, Ian continued, "You actually have to work; that means doing stock, helping with inventory, sweeping, mopping—"

"Fuck you, I told you I'm not cleaning up after people."

"No, fuck you, Mickey. If you can't agree to it, then I'm not asking Linda."

"When did you become such a fucking dick," Mickey spat before waving his hand irritably. "Fine. Fuck. Anything else, princess?"

Ian angled his jaw. "No fucking. That means you and me. You're here, you're working. You said it yourself, we're done. We weren't boyfriend and girlfriend and, even though I didn't want to acknowledge it at the time, I was naïve and stupid and I was just a warm mouth to you, but not anymore. I've moved on."

Mickey stared back at him, his lip tilting up in a smirk. "You're kidding me, right? I say one thing to piss you off and suddenly we can't bang anymore?"

"What?" Ian asked as he picked his clipboard back up. "You actually thought I'd be stupid enough to wait for you, Mickey? I already did that once. We both know how that turned out."

"Whatever, man," Mickey said, not really knowing what else to say. "I can't help that your fuckin’ feelings got hurt."

Ian shot his head up, his face turning red. "No, I blame myself completely for that. I should have known all a Milkovich was capable of doing is fucking something with legs."

Mickey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, tough guy."

"Besides, I have a boyfriend now," Ian continued as he began writing, missing the dark look on Mickey's face as he said these words. "You know, someone who actually likes me and wants to be with me, so I'm not going to fuck that up over some meaningless fuck."

Mickey stared back at Ian, wondering why this piece of information didn't sit too well with him. The fact that Ian was with someone else, fucking someone else, made him want to punch a fucking wall. "You're kidding, right?" he asked, watching as Ian lifted his eyes to his. "You got yourself a fucking boyfriend? What, do you go on fucking picnics together? Hold hands and skip down the goddamn street, feed each other fuckin’ spaghetti?"

"It's none of your business what he and I do," Ian said coolly before standing up and heading to the cooler to grab himself a Gatorade. He was stopped in his tracks when Mickey reached out a hand and grabbed his wrist.

Ian looked down at Mickey's tattooed hand, unable to deny the surge of electricity that coursed through him, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. He slowly lifted his eyes to Mickey's, trying not to stare too hard. He didn't want to give him any ideas. "Like I said," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Either accept the terms, or go find somewhere else to work." He pulled his hand from Mickey's grasp and walked away.

Mickey stared after him, knowing there was no way in hell he wasn't going to take the job. He didn't care about some fucking fairy Ian was dating. He would have the younger boy fucking him senseless in no time. He completely accepted the challenge.

He watched as Ian bent to grab his drink, allowing his eyes to follow the perfect curve of Ian's ass through his khakis. "I want it," he said as he kept staring. "The job. I want the job."

Ian straightened up and turned to face Mickey. "You sure?"

"I think I can control myself around your pale, freckly, copperheaded ass."

"Okay, then," Ian said as he unscrewed the lid to his drink and took a long gulp.

Mickey watched as Ian's adam's apple bobbed and he took advantage of the few stolen seconds to notice the way Ian's light blue t-shirt stretched over his firm chest. He turned around and headed for the door, knowing if he didn't, he might give in. He didn't want Gallagher to think he was fucking irresistible, or some shit. "Catch ya later, dick breath."

Ian stood in the empty store and stared at the spot where Mickey had just been standing. He ran a hand over his head and sighed, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.

* * *

Mickey walked into the Milkovich home and slammed the door behind him. He was greeted with the usual smells of home; musk, dirty feet, and old food that was sitting and rotting in the garbage in the kitchen.

He stalked through the living room, unsurprisingly finding his father passed out on the couch in a drunken stupor, his ass crack peaking out from his stained underwear for all to see. He found Mandy in the kitchen preparing spaghetti. "Sup, slut."

"Fuck you, asshole," Mandy said, bumping his hip with hers as he walked past. "You hungry?"

"Starved," Mickey said as he pulled a beer from the fridge. He took a long swig from it before saying, "I might be getting my old job back at the Kash and Grab. I stopped by earlier and the fucking alien-looking Gallagher kid said he'd talk to his boss for me."

Mandy smirked at him over her shoulder. "Be nice to him," she warned, "he's a sweetheart…and he's not alien-looking. What the fuck gives anyway, I thought you two were starting to get along?"

"Fuck that," Mickey said before taking another swig of his beer. He then eyed his sister warily, wondering how to phrase his next sentence without sounding like a fucking idiot. "I heard the asshole actually went and got himself a fucking boyfriend."

"Tyler?" Mandy confirmed as she stirred the sauce. "Oh yeah, they've been going out for about a month now. He's a junior at school. They did some project together and I guess one thing led to another and now they're dating. They're really cute together."

"Nobody wants to hear that shit," Mickey spat, not wanting to hear anymore. The very idea of Ian Gallagher being with anyone else, fucking anyone else, made his skin crawl. He didn't know why it got to him so much, it just fucking did.

"You're such an asshole," Mandy said with a sigh. "I'm happy for him. For a few months there, he wasn't himself. He was mopey and didn't really come around and now, I don't know, he seems like his old self again."

"Good for the little asshole," Mickey said with a burp as he turned and headed towards his room. "Let me know when dinner's ready, skank."

"Eat me, dillhole!"

Mickey disappeared into his room and shut the door behind him. Once he was behind closed doors, his walls came down a little and his shoulders slumped. He sat down on his bed, grabbed a cigarette from the table next to his bed, and lit it. He rested back and stared up at the ceiling, unable to get a certain irritating redhead out of his head; a problem he had been having for the past six months.

* * *

The next day, Mickey groaned and turned over onto his back. He opened one eye, silently cursing the sunlight that was pouring in through his dingy threadbare curtains.

Mandy was creepily hovering over him.

"Jesus. What the fuck do you want?"

Mandy practically shoved the phone in his face. "It's for you, shithead."

"What the fuck," he mumbled as he sat up, figuring it was his PO calling to check in. He watched with a scowl as Mandy left the room, tossing a finger over her shoulder. "Hello?" he said gruffly, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand.

"Mickey?" Ian said on the other line.

Suddenly, Mickey felt wide awake. "Yeah?" he said nonchalantly, as if he could give two shits that Ian was calling him. "The fuck you want?" he added as an afterthought.

"I talked to Linda. It took some persuading, but she said you can have your old job back. You owe me. You start today at eleven."

Mickey glanced over at the clock. "Fuck. That's in like twenty fucking minutes."

"Better get a move on then," Ian said, "wouldn't want to be late."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off," Mickey said and then hung up before Ian could get another word in.

Mickey stood up and went to his closet to grab some clothes before thinking better of it and heading towards the bathroom. It wouldn't hurt to take a quick shower. He then wondered to himself why he even gave a shit about how he looked or smelled, even though, deep down, he knew why. He just silenced those fucking thoughts and went to it.

* * *

"Thank you, have a nice day," Ian said with a sugary smile that instantly melted off his face when the customer was gone. He sighed and went back to counting his drawer. He looked up when the door opened to find Mickey sauntering in. "You're late."

Mickey glanced at the clock. "By two fucking minutes."

"We might have to dock your pay."

"You know what," Mickey said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some change. He tossed it on the counter. "There ya go. That should make up for it."

Ian smirked as he scooped the change up.

Mickey smirked back and then watched as Ian stood up and turned to the cigarettes behind him, taking inventory. He watched as Ian reached up high, his shirt rising a little and exposing bare skin. _Jesus Christ, when did Ian get so fucking hot. A year ago, the kid was all freckles, skin, and bones._

He supposed ROTC training had been good for him.

He averted his eyes towards a rack of magazines. "So, what the fuck should I do first? You're the fuckin’ boss."

Ian smirked at him over his shoulder. "You've worked here before, Mickey."

"Yeah, well, before I just stood around. Now, for some reason, you want to put my ass to work."

"Grab a broom and start sweeping."

Mickey rolled his eyes and glued a hard stare to Ian's back as he walked over to grab the broom that was propped next to the door. "You're fucking loving this, aren't you?"

"Nope," Ian said unconvincingly with a smirk.

"Yeah, eat shit," Mickey muttered as he started sweeping. He couldn't help it. He felt his eyes sliding back in Ian's direction and he watched as Ian wrote on his clipboard, his arm toning and tensing with each stroke of his pen. Mickey took the time to study the profile of Ian's face, realizing just how much he had missed it. His daydreams in juvie hadn't done it justice.

"So, you say they let you out for overcrowding?" Ian spoke, breaking Mickey from his thoughts.

"Yeah, so?" Mickey said as he kept sweeping, avoiding looking in Ian's direction.

"Guess you got lucky."

Mickey lifted his head and eyed Ian's back, an unknown uneasiness settling inside of him. "Yeah, guess I did." He would never admit to Ian that it had been much more than that.

Just then, the door opened, breaking the tension. Mickey watched as the guy walked up to the counter and casually leaned against it like he owned the joint. He then realized the guy was watching Ian with a grin. Mickey stilled his sweeping and watched the shmuck like a hawk.

"Hey, sexy."

Mickey straightened and bristled with irritation.

Ian turned and grinned at the guy.

Mickey watched as Ian leaned in and kissed the guy chastely on the lips. He gripped the handle of the broom so hard that his knuckles turned white. He watched the interaction no matter how much he wanted to look away.

He eyed the guy, who he presumed was this fucking Tyler kid, and resisted the urge to knock him on his ass. _Really? This was who Ian was dating? This average looking fucktard?_

"Uh, Tyler," Ian began, suddenly looking nervous under Mickey's scrutiny. "This is Mickey. He's, uh, our new security."

Mickey locked eyes with Ian, slightly taken back by being referred to so casually. But then he supposed that was his own fault. After all, he had referred to Ian as just a warm mouth, so he supposed being called security wasn't too bad.

"Hey," Tyler said with a friendly, albeit forced, nod of his head. "Mickey Milkovich, right? I think you beat me up in middle school one time for my lunch money."

Mickey stared back at him, unamused.

Ian watched Mickey, frowning slightly. Did Mickey look jealous? No, that couldn't be right. Mickey Milkovich didn't get jealous. Mickey Milkovich didn't give two shits about him. He brushed it off and smiled back at Tyler. "So, what are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet up later at your place?"

Mickey went back to sweeping even though he kept his ear firmly on the conversation.

"We were," Tyler began, "but I got roped into going to Trina's dance recital tonight. My parents gave me the whole guilt trip. You're more than welcome to come though, my parents love you."

Mickey kept sweeping, his mind wrapping around the fact that Ian was now with someone who wanted the boyfriend label, someone whose parents could accept Ian, someone who wasn't him.

"Ah, as fun as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass," Ian said with that cute little laugh of his. "Maybe we can meet up later tonight or something, at my house."

Mickey stopped sweeping and practically threw the broom against the wall. "I'm gonna go stock the cooler," he said flatly before leaving the two guys alone.

Tyler watched after Mickey and then looked back at Ian with an arched eyebrow. "Can you say homophobic prick?"

"Come on," Ian said, feeling an odd sense of obligation to defend Mickey. "He's not that bad."

"Trust me, I've heard about Mickey Milkovich. Be careful with that one."

Ian smirked. "I think I'll be okay."

"Whatever you say," Tyler said with a laugh. He then leaned across the counter and kissed Ian softly. "I'll call you later."

"See ya," Ian said, watching as Tyler left the store. He then looked towards the coolers and considered his next move for only a second before heading back. He found Mickey inside, sitting on a milk crate, smoking a cigarette.

"Come on, Mickey, you know you can't smoke in here."

"You fucked me up the ass back here at least twenty times, and now you want to talk about me fucking smoking in here?"

Ian rolled his eyes and was about to say something else, when Mickey interrupted him.

"Really? You're going out with that douchebag?" 

Ian tilted his head. "He's nice to me. Nicer to me than you ever were."

"Fuck off," Mickey said as he stood and began pacing back and forth.

Ian watched him, surprised that he was seeing such a reaction coming from him. "Why do you even care?"

"I don't," Mickey said, stopping suddenly to face him. "I just figured you could do better than that scrawny, sharp-nosed motherfucker. I mean, I take offense to the fact that you would fuck me and then fuck… _that_."

"Well, it's none of your business who I fuck anymore, Mick," Ian said, turning to head out.

"Fuck," Mickey muttered when he was alone. He then threw his cigarette on the floor, stomped it out, and followed Ian back to the front of the store. "You can't tell me he's good at sex. The fucker looks like he can barely string words together."

"Just drop it, Mickey. You don't know him, okay," Ian said as he bent down to pick up a discarded receipt off the floor. When he straightened up, Mickey was moving and Ian suddenly found himself being turned and pressed back against the wall.

Mickey pinned him in, placing both of his tattooed hands flat against the wall. They were inches apart, their breath mingling between them. He stared into Ian's eyes, already feeling his cock tightening in his pants. It never did take much for him to get hard around Ian Gallagher, not since that first time on his bed and maybe even before that.

"Mickey, don't," Ian said, though his voice held no determination.

"You can't tell me he makes you feel the way I do. That he gets your cock hard like I do. That he moans your name like I do," Mickey said as he snuck a hand between them. He cupped Ian through his khakis, glad to find that Ian was already semi-hard.

Ian swallowed visibly as he stared back at Mickey, wondering if his legs would actually move if he tried to walk. He bit at his lower lip a little as Mickey rubbed him through his pants. He stifled back a moan and pressed his hands to Mickey's chest. "Maybe not," he finally said, his voice shaky, "but he doesn't make me feel like shit." He shoved at Mickey, not hard but enough to be able to get free and he headed behind the counter.

Mickey stayed there, his hands still against the wall, and he hung his head, his heart racing in his throat.

"Get back to work, Mickey," Ian said as he pretended to be focusing on something else, all the while trying to get his own heartbeat back to normal.

* * *

After receiving a call from Tyler to say he couldn't make it over after his sister's dance recital after all, Ian found himself bored with nothing else planned for the rest of the night. So when Mandy called him to invite him over to play board games and have a few forbidden beers, he was all in, especially since she let it slip that it would be just the two of them; no Terry, no Milkovich brothers…no Mickey.

He refrained from asking where Mickey was, even though it was on the tip of his tongue. It was none of his business and he wasn't about to make it his business.

Once he got to the Milkovich house, Mandy opened the door with a grin. "Hey, you. Come on in. I was just packing a bowl."

Ian smiled back at his best friend and stepped inside. Involuntarily, his eyes darted down the hall towards Mickey's room, but then he quickly looked away, his mind wandering to the handful of times he and Mickey had fucked in that very room.

That very first time, when they had gone from kicking each other's asses to Ian pounding Mickey's ass, all within the span of two minutes. And the second time when Mickey was home alone and had called Ian up and said simply, 'I'm bored, you can fuckin' come over I guess,' but he had apparently _really_   meant to say, 'come over, I'll blow you, then you can fuck my ass.'

"You want some pizza bagels?" Mandy asked, breaking him from his dirty thoughts as they sat down on the couch.

"No, thanks, I ate dinner already…if you want to call Fiona's meatloaf food."

Mandy smiled as she finished packing the bowl and lit it to take a puff. She held the smoke in as she handed it to Ian. "This is some good shit," she said on an exhale. "Mickey got it from this guy he knows, he sells the best stuff."

Ian took the weed and inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs. He needed this, a night with his best friend and some good weed, a night to get his mind off shit. "Good shit," he concurred through an exhale.

Mandy stood up. "I'll go get us beer and some cards."

Ian watched after her and then turned to eye the cluttered living room. Life at home definitely had its downfalls, but any time he came to the Milkovich house, he was always a little thankful to go home. The Gallagher home might not have the nicest furniture, or a vast array of food, or even heat half the time, but they had love; something the Milkovich clan never really had.

Well, he thought, one of them could have had love, they just didn't want it.

"Here you go," Mandy said, handing him a cold beer. "We can't drink too much, though, or my dad will flip his fucking lid."

Ian laughed as he took a nice long chug. He paused in mid chug when the front door opened and Mickey came casually strolling inside.

"Have you fucking seen Iggy? The fucker was supposed to pick me up—" he paused mid-sentence when he saw Ian sitting on the couch. "The fuck's he doing here?"

"I invited him, asshole," Mandy jumped in, unaware of the looks the two were giving each other.

"Drinking all my goddamn beer," Mickey muttered after a pause. He tore his eyes from Ian's and walked to the fridge to grab his own beer. He then walked back to the living room and sat down in the recliner.

"Do you mind?" Mandy asked. "You weren't invited."

Mickey ignored her and grabbed the bowl from the coffee table. He took a deep drag, his eyes on Ian. "I thought you had a date with your queer-bo boyfriend."

"He backed out at the last minute," Ian said, trying to play it cool, even though seeing Mickey caused those unwanted emotions to surge through him again. He hated Mickey for having this kind of affect on him.

"That's too bad," Mickey said on an inhale. "Maybe he's out pounding someone else's faggot ass," he said on his exhale.

"Mickey, stop," Mandy warned. "Why do you always have to be such a prick? We were having a good time until your ass showed up."

"Fine, fuck y’all," Mickey said, standing up.

Ian watched as Mickey left the room.

"He's been such a dick the past few days, even more than usual. I don't know what the hell's up his ass."

Ian just laughed if off and took the bowl when she offered it to him.

A little while later, Ian woke and looked around, trying to focus his bleary eyes. He stared at the TV now displaying a blue screen, and at the eight empty beer bottles and empty weed bowl before them. His head felt heavy and his eyes burned and he felt queasy. He looked down at Mandy, who was curled up next to him, fast asleep.

"Fucking lightweights," he mumbled to himself as he rubbed at his eye. He stood up, intent on going to the bathroom and then passing out on the recliner. He didn't have the energy to walk home. He walked past Mickey's bedroom door and hesitated for only a second before disappearing into the bathroom.

He pissed, washed his hands, and then opened the door, only to be pushed back inside. He lost his breath when he was pushed back against the cold bathroom wall. "What the fuck are you doing."

Mickey kicked the door shut with his foot and then pinned Ian back against the wall. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Ian relaxed a little and sighed. "Mickey, you have to stop doing this, alright? It's not going to happen. It's done."

"We're not done."

"Look, you're going to have to find someone else to fuck you up the ass, because I'm not doing it."

Mickey pressed closer, his breath hot on Ian's cheek. "What, you don't want to fuck my ass?"

Ian swallowed as he stared back, unable to form words at the moment.

Mickey reached between them and rubbed Ian through his jeans. "You don't want me? Feels like you do."

"You're such a dick," Ian said with emotion. "Why do you do this to me? You basically tell me I don't mean shit to you, that I'm nothing to you, and then you think you can just show up six months later and that I'm going to just fuck you and act like nothing's changed?"

"Fuck what I said. I want you to fuck me."

Ian was upset now. He put his hands on Mickey's chest and pushed him back roughly. "Go fuck yourself."

Mickey stared back at Ian, not knowing how to react. He watched as Ian began to slightly crumble in front of him.

"You don't get to do this, Mickey!" Ian exclaimed. "You don't get to just come back and pick up where we left off. Yeah, I might be naïve and childish and fucking stupid, or whatever, but you broke…" Ian stopped himself. "You know what, fuck you." He pushed Mickey again and reached for the door.

Mickey let him go, dumbfounded. He knew Ian had been upset by him leaving, but he had no idea he had felt this strongly about it. He honestly thought they would just pick back up where they left off, like last time. After all, it had started out as just sex. When had that changed?

When had it changed for the both of them?

"Fuck," he muttered before turning around and following Ian. He watched as Ian grabbed his shoes from beside the couch and began putting them on. "You don't have to go," he said. "It's late."

"Fuck you."

"Just stay and…and we can talk."

"Fuck you."

"Ian."

Ian paused what he was doing when he heard Mickey actually say his name and he lifted his head, his eyes wet from unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, alright?" Mickey said, the words sounding foreign on his lips. "I'm an asshole," he whispered, keeping his eyes on his sleeping sister to make sure she wasn't awake.

"Fucking right you are," Ian mumbled.

"Come on," Mickey said, motioning towards the porch with a nod of his head. "Let's go have a smoke." When he sensed Ian's apprehension, he sighed, suddenly hating himself for even making Ian feel like that. "Come on."

Ian nodded curtly and followed Mickey onto the porch. They sat side by side on the top step and passed the cigarette between them.

"You, more than anyone, should know I can't keep my fucking dick in my pants," Mickey said, throwing a casual glance in Ian's direction.

"It's okay," Ian said as he took a puff of the cigarette and handed it back to Mickey. "I know you can't control your dick around me."

Mickey smiled gingerly and looked at Ian out of the corner of his eye. "Look I get it, alright? I get why you don't want anything to do with me. I shouldn't have fucking said what I said. I was pissed about your dad and I take it back. You weren't just…fuck…you weren't just a warm mouth."

Ian frowned a little and then slowly looked at Mickey, who was staring across the street. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Mickey turned his head and caught Ian's eyes. "Don't fuckin’ get used to it." He then realized things were getting too soft and he threw in, "I did all the fuckin’ in juvie. Didn't want to become someone's bitch. I just thought it'd be nice to come home and switch back, ya know." He took a puff of his smoke, not knowing that his words had cut Ian deep.

Ian watched Mickey for a few more heartbeats before looking down the street. He knew he shouldn't be here, knew that he shouldn't put himself through this, but he couldn't help it. Something had always pulled him in Mickey's direction. Even if they couldn't be more, he at least wanted to be his friend.

"So, where does this leave us?" Ian asked. "If we can't fuck anymore."

"How the fuck should I know?" Mickey said, puffing his cigarette again before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out. "Co-workers?"

"I would like to think we're more to each other than just co-workers, Mick."

"Well, you're the one who likes to put labels on shit, so you tell me."

"I was thinking maybe we could try to be friends."

Mickey looked at Ian, noticed how the lights from the streetlamps illuminated his smooth, sweet, innocent face. "You wanna be friends, huh? Friends who used to pound each other's asses?"

"Come on, Mickey, you know I did ninety-eight percent of the pounding."

"Mr. Fucking Technical over here."

Ian laughed.

"We can be friends," Mickey said after a pause. "I guess."

"Okay. Friends," Ian said, looking off into the distance once more, unaware that Mickey was eyeing him, thinking anything but friendly thoughts.

"This doesn't fucking mean we're going to trade baseball cards or braid each other's hair, or some shit."

"Right," Ian said with a small smile.

Mickey watched him. "You know, a part of me was waiting for you to visit me in juvie." He didn't know why he was admitting this and wished he could take it back, "but I guess I understand why you didn't."

Ian wanted to tell him that he had thought about it, plenty of times, but had always backed out. "I guess it's for the best, y’know?" he said. "There was no chance in hell for us anyway, so it was good that I stayed away. You said it yourself, your dad would have killed you if he found out."

"Yeah," Mickey said, looking away, suddenly wanting another cigarette in the worst way. He waited a few heartbeats before saying, "So this new fuck toy…do you love him or is it just a fuck?"

Ian refused to look in Mickey's eyes as he answered. "I don't know. It's too early to tell," he said. "I'm still trying to pick up the pieces from the last one."

Mickey kept his eyes on Ian, not knowing how to process that.

Ian finally locked eyes with Mickey's, a moment passing between them.

"What are you guys doing out here?" Mandy asked suddenly from behind them. "Are you guys actually getting along?"

Ian looked over his shoulder at her and smiled gently. "Something like that."

"It's about fucking time," Mandy said. "Come back in. Cheaters is on."

Ian stood up, brushing slightly against Mickey as he did so to follow Mandy back into the house.

Mickey remained seated on that top step, the feeling of Ian's clothes brushing against him and the slight smell of his cologne still lingering long after he'd gone inside.


	2. Everything's Copacetic

Ian licked his lips and angled his head on the pillow so he could watch his boyfriend at work. 

Ian had gone to Tyler's house after school with the pretense of studying for their English exam the next day, but that had quickly led to kissing and heavy petting, like it always did, and now his pants were unbuttoned, Tyler was lying half on top of him, and there was a hand firmly stroking his dick. 

Funny how he always seemed to end up in these situations. Lip's words to him once upon a time kept resonating in his head:  _'You're a slut, man.'_

Indeed, he was.

Tyler leaned in to kiss Ian sloppily, using way too much tongue as usual. He pulled away from the heated kiss moments later in need of air, his face flushed and lips swollen. "Maybe we should slow this down a bit," he said as his hand continued pumping roughly. "My parents and sister are right downstairs, and you're being kinda loud."

"You started it," Ian panted.

"Now I gotta stop it. We really _should_   be studying."

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm about to bust a nut and you want to tell me this now?" Ian muttered back harshly. 

He didn't mean to be sound crass about it; it's just that nowadays, he knew he had to be more vocal about what he wanted. He was done letting people lead him on, done letting people walk all over him. He wanted to be the one who called the shots this time, the one in charge. 

That way he couldn't get hurt again.

Tyler leaned down and kissed him again before finally relenting. "Fine, but be quiet. I don't want anyone hearing us. My parents like you and I want it to stay that way, because I kinda like you too."

Ian grabbed the back of Tyler's head and pulled him back down for another kiss to shut him up, feeling relieved when Tyler's hand began moving over his cock again. 

Ian was only the second guy Tyler had ever been with, so, naturally, his hand job technique was just _okay_ , could definitely use some work, but it was getting the job done, for the most part. 

It certainly wasn't as good of a hand job as someone else he knew gave, but he absolutely refused to think about _him_   right now. 

The funny thing about that was, no matter how much he refused to think about Mickey, the more he thought about him. So, when he came a couple of minutes later in his boyfriend's hand and arched his back and moaned into Tyler's mouth, it was Mickey's hand he was thinking of, it was Mickey's mouth on his.

Tyler pulled away and sat up, his face flushed. "You're so hot when you come, you know that."

Ian tucked his dick back into his pants and sat up, still trying to catch his breath. He didn't dare look at Tyler, feeling guilty for thinking about someone else. 

He didn't want to think about Mickey. 

He liked Tyler; he was cute, funny, liked the same shit Ian did, they joked around a lot, and Tyler wasn't afraid to show him affection, wasn't afraid to kiss him and didn't think Ian was _too gay_   when he wanted to hold hands. He was, essentially, everything Ian had ever wanted in a boyfriend. He was the exact opposite of Mickey, in fact.

There was only one problem with all of that, though…he wasn't Mickey.

Ian confused himself, he really fucking did. He wanted all of the things Tyler offered him that Mickey absolutely refused to, but yet he wanted Mickey and didn't want him at the same time. Fuck, when did love and relationships get so complicated. When did a simple fuck stop being just a fuck?

"You thirsty? I can run downstairs and grab us something to drink before we crack open the books," Tyler said, standing up and fixing his hair. "I can have my mom make us that mint tea you like."

"Uh, no, I should really get going. I told Fiona I'd help watch the kids tonight."

"Oh, so you just came over to get off, huh?" Tyler said teasingly, grabbing Ian's hand and pulling him in for another kiss. "I see how it is."

Ian kissed him back and smiled softly when they pulled apart. He was intent on making this thing work. Mickey was his friend, nothing more. They would never be anything more. Mickey was right; he had to stop being naïve and childish, and start being realistic. 

Mickey had been an unobtainable fantasy. Tyler was real.

"On second thought," Ian said, pulling Tyler back down on the bed with him. "I think it's your turn now."

Tyler opened his mouth to speak, but Ian cut him off with a kiss. Tyler was about to learn how a real hand job was done.

* * *

Mickey walked into the Kash and Grab and found Ian behind the counter helping an elderly woman decide which fucking shit paper to buy.

He smirked to himself (because, really, did it matter what the fuck toiler paper you wiped your asshole with?) and shrugged out of his jacket. When the old bag finally left, deciding in the end not to purchase either item, he walked up to the counter.

It had been two days since the talk on his porch and the declaration of friendship, and he could already tell things were going to be fucking weird. Ian Gallagher and him being friends? No fucking involved whatsoever? How was he supposed to manage that shit. Fucking had been the very basis of their entire relationship in the past.

"Hey," Mickey said casually. 

"Hey," Ian said, leaning against the counter on his elbows. "What's been going on."

"Same old shit," Mickey said, avoiding his eyes. 

Why did Gallagher have to go and get so fucking hot all of a sudden? And why did he have to be wearing that fucking stupid striped shirt that he liked so much? And why did he have to be thinking such fucking girly shit?

"You okay?" Ian asked, a worried look on his face. "You look pale. Well, paler than usual."

"Yeah, why the fuck wouldn't I be okay?"

"I'm surprised you're actually on time," Ian said with a teasing smirk. "I think that's a first." 

"Yeah, I'm having an off day, I guess," Mickey snapped back.

Ian eyed him wearily as awkward silence ensued. "This is fucking weird, isn't it?"

"So fucking weird." Mickey said as he browsed the magazine rack and quickly snatched one up. 

"We don't have to be weird around each other, you know," Ian continued. "So we're not fucking anymore. There has to be shit we can talk about."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"I don't know," Ian said, shifting nervously on his stool. "Stuff. Anything." 

"Anything, huh?" Mickey smirked. "How's that boyfriend of yours?"

"Except that," Ian said with his own smirk.

Mickey chuckled and then slyly watched as Ian looked down at his inventory clipboard. He snuck a few stolen glances at Ian before looking down at the magazine spread open in front of him. "So, that's really what you wanted, huh? A fucking boyfriend?" 

Ian didn't bother looking up from writing. "Thought we weren't going to talk about this." 

"I'm just curious, that's all," Mickey said nonchalantly as he flipped a page. "I didn't take you for the hand-holding, picnic-having, meet-the-parents, give-me-your-class-fucking-ring type." 

"Yeah, well, maybe the fucking around shit was just getting old to me. Maybe I wanted something a little more substantial," Ian said as he kept writing, his eyebrow arching a little. 

Mickey chewed on his lower lip as he lifted his eyes back up to stare Ian. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Ian that, while he had been in juvie, he may have thought about doing those things with Gallagher. He might have maybe wanted to hold his hand in the privacy of the storage room, just to see how their fingers fit together. He might have maybe wanted to even kiss him, just to see what it felt like. But he didn't. He would never say those things out loud. He barely even liked thinking them.

"Well, if you gotta put up with all that pussy crap, at least tell me the fucking is good." Mickey said, going back to his magazine. 

"Come on, Mickey." 

"It's just a question." 

"And you really want to know the answer?" 

"We're friends, right?" Mickey asked, missing the upset look on Ian's face; a face that said he didn't want Mickey asking such questions so nonchalantly, as if he didn't give a shit who Ian banged. 

"Alright," Ian said defiantly. "It's good. Really good."

"Better than me, good?" Mickey asked before he could fully comprehend what he was asking. 

"Mickey." 

"Just a question, Gallagher."

"A question I'm not answering." 

Mickey smirked and dared to look up, finally catching Ian's eyes. A moment passed between them, both of them unable to look away from the other. If he didn't know any better, Mickey could swear he saw the very corner of Ian's mouth begin to curl up…

Just then, the chime above the door broke their transfixion, and Ian looked away first. 

Mickey cleared his throat and looked back down at the magazine while Ian dealt with the customer. _The fuck was he even reading_?

* * *

By closing time, Ian and Mickey had remained civil during the rest of their shift; alternating between stocking, mopping, and dealing with customers. No more awkward sex or boyfriend talk ensued, and they had made it one night as friends fairly unscathed.

Perhaps this wouldn't be too hard after all. 

"Hey," Mickey said as he put on his coat. "You want me to walk you home? I gotta go that way anyway to settle some shit with someone." 

Ian turned around to face Mickey, his breath catching a little when he realized Mickey was closer than he had first estimated. He took a safe step back. "Uh, no, thanks. I can walk home by myself. I've done it a hundred times before." 

Mickey chewed on his lower lip, looking as if he wanted to say more, and then nodded curtly. "Cool. See ya," he said, before heading towards the door. 

For some reason Ian couldn't really explain, he found himself calling out, "hey, Mickey?"

Mickey hesitated at the door and then looked back over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. 

"I'm glad we can be friends, you know?" Ian said. "Maybe that's all we were supposed to be to begin with." 

Mickey looked back at him, his expression unreadable at first, and then he smirked. "Fuckin' cheeseball." He laughed and threw Ian another amused look before leaving. 

Ian walked back around the counter to grab his coat, a small smile playing on his lips.

* * *

Over the next week, they started to settle into a comfortable repartee. Things weren't as awkward as either of them had first feared it would be. They showed up for work, joked around and talked about nothing, and then went home. It was surprisingly easy and comfortable.

During their fourth shift together as just friends, it was a rainy night, which meant practically no customers, which meant they were basically getting paid to do nothing. 

They were sitting in the back, the garage door half open as they sat on milk crates and smoked, passing the cigarette back and forth between them. 

"Yeah, this one kid in juvie, Jerald," Mickey said as he inhaled. "He was in there for stabbing some guy in the nuts." When Ian's eyes grew wide, he continued. "Yeah, he caught his bitch fucking this dude in the alleyway outside her house. Grabbed a paring knife from the kitchen and sliced clean into his nut sack. I'm telling you, people are fucking hardcore in there." 

Ian took the cigarette Mickey offered him and inhaled deeply as he listened. He realized he kind of liked listening to Mickey talk. They never really did much talking in the past; not like this. Mickey never told him stories like this before, never really opened up to him before. Maybe now that they were actually friends, he'd start to know more about Mickey aside from which positions he liked to fuck in and how he liked his dick sucked (though, truth be told, Ian didn't really mind knowing those things.)

"So, besides going and getting yourself wifed up," Mickey continued sardonically. "What else have you been up to?" 

Ian sat back and shoved his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. "Same stuff. Been getting really into my ROTC training, working on my school work, keeping busy," he said. "It's been a really rough few months, so I've been—" He stopped when he realized what he had just said, what his words had implied, and didn't miss the look that crossed Mickey's face. He dropped his eyes and sighed. "Fuck, I know I shouldn't say shit like that." 

"What?" Mickey asked, his voice suddenly sounding a little rough around the edges. "That you missed me?"

Ian lifted his eyes, trying to decide if Mickey was yanking his chain or not, testing him. When Mickey didn't smirk or laugh though, Ian lifted his head even higher. 

Just then, Linda's voice boomed from the front of the store. "Ian. Ian, where the fuck are you? You and that Milkovich kid aren't fucking in the back, are you? I thought we went over that!"

Ian stood up and abruptly made his way to the front of the store, leaving Mickey staring at the spot where he had just been sitting.

* * *

The rest of the night was spent cleaning and restocking shelves, neither one of them saying much to the other. When it was finally time to clock out, Mickey put on his coat and, for the fourth night in a row, he asked, "want me to walk with you?"

Ian looked up from putting on his own coat and finally decided to ask the burning question. "Why are you suddenly so adamant about walking me home?" 

Mickey thumbed at his lower lip, avoiding Ian's eyes. It appeared as if he was about to say something important, but changed his mind and instead said, "Fucking forget it." He started towards the door, but was stopped when Ian reached out and grabbed his arm. He shook out of Ian's grasp. "The fuck?"

Ian pulled his hand back. 

Mickey started for the door again and then paused with his hands pressed against the push bar. "Maybe I just don't ever feel like going home right away."

Ian watched dumbfoundedly as Mickey finally pushed his way outside. The door swiftly fell shut when he was gone, leaving Mickey's words behind him, resonating sadly in Ian's head. 

Ian didn't know what Mickey had meant by that, but he was hoping he'd get to find out.

* * *

The next shift with Mickey was when things were finally starting to feel really awkward. Mickey walked in, took off his coat, and sat down on his designated stool by the door, reaching for a magazine without saying one word to Ian.

"Hey," Ian said stiffly. 

"Hey," Mickey grumbled, not looking up. 

"Everything cool?" 

"Copacetic." 

Ian frowned as he nervously twirled his pen between his fingers, feeling as if Mickey was retracting back to his old, closed-off self, when they were just finally starting to make some progress. "Is this about the other night; what you said, about not wanting to go home?"

"No," was the rough reply.

Ian hesitated before asking. "Is this about what _I_   said, in the back room?" He saw Mickey freeze a little before quickly recovering.

"What, that you missed me? Fuck would I care about that?"

And there he was…the old I-dont-give-a-shit-Mickey.

"Fuck you," Ian mumbled under his breath as he stood up from his stool and walked around the counter. "I don't even know why I fucking bother."

"Yeah, me neither." 

Ian rolled his eyes and walked to the coolers, intent on stocking the Gatorade and staying out of Mickey's way for the rest of the shift. Just as he was about to place the third drink in its place, Mickey's next words caused him to pause. 

"It's my fucking dad." 

Ian turned around after a few heartbeats and eyed Mickey warily, not knowing what to say, not even knowing how to react. The way Mickey sounded when he said those words; Ian had never heard Mickey sound so…soft…before. 

"It's like living in a fucking nightmare most days," Mickey continued sullenly, though he didn't dare look up from his magazine. 

"What's he do to you?" Ian asked after a long stretch of intense silence when Mickey didn't offer anything else up. 

"Doesn't fucking matter." 

"You can," Ian began. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You know you can talk to me, Mickey. I won't judge you. You know I'm the last person that would ever judge you." 

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to fucking talk about it," Mickey snapped, his tone hard again. 

"Well, then why'd you bring it up?" 

"I don't know, but now I'm fucking dropping it." 

Ian nodded curtly and went back to the Gatorade, stealing glances over his shoulder every now and then to watch Mickey, who never once looked up from his magazine.

* * *

When their shift was over, Mickey put on his coat and headed for the door, this time not bothering to ask Ian if he wanted company on his walk home.

Right before Mickey could leave, however, Ian called out. "You wanna head over to the arcade down the street for a little bit? It's still early. Maybe I can kick your ass in some skeeball?"

Mickey paused at the door before turning around to give Ian the eyebrows. " _You_   kick _my_   ass in skeeball? Are you fucking kidding me right now? In what fucking world do you live in? I'd slaughter your ass in some skeeball, Gallagher." 

Ian only grinned. 

Mickey watched him for a moment before averting his eyes and rubbing at his bottom lip. "I guess I can head to the arcade for a bit. Why the fuck not. Got shit else to do." 

Ian put on his coat and followed Mickey out the door. Both boys knew exactly why Ian had offered and why Mickey had taken Ian up on his offer, but neither brought it up.

~~~

Sure enough, Mickey slaughtered Ian at skeeball (…and air hockey and foozball…) and they both chowed down on nachos with the works and flat pop, and they both felt like carefree teenagers for the first time in a really long ass time.

They exited the arcade nearly two hours later, full of laughter as they spilled out onto the sidewalk. 

"You fucking suck at everything, Gallagher! You suck at life," Mickey said with a grin as he roughly pushed Ian. 

"Fuck you, I let you win," Ian said as he shoved back. 

Mickey laughed again, not noticing the way Ian was suddenly watching him. When he finally realized how quiet Ian was being, he looked over, only to do a double take. "The fuck are you looking at?"

"I like your laugh, you know." 

Mickey quickly looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "Don't say shit like that," he said seriously, even though his heart sped up a little in his chest. 

"Well, it's true," Ian said. "You don't laugh nearly enough."

"Maybe I don't have much to fucking laugh about," Mickey said bitterly as they kept walking towards the Gallagher home. 

"I'll get you to laugh more."

Mickey looked at Ian in amusement with a cocked eyebrow. "What, with your lame ass fucking jokes? I don't think so."

"Fuck you, my jokes aren't lame!" Ian exclaimed as he lunged at Mickey, tackling him down into a random front yard. 

Mickey yelped with laugher as they roughhoused; both of them rolling around, fighting for dominance. 

Ian eventually got the upper hand and straddled Mickey, pinning his hands to the ground. They were both laughing like idiots and struggling for breath as they remained like that. "Who sucks now, huh?"

"You're a dick." 

Ian laughed and then found himself looking down at Mickey's lips, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground. He suddenly came crashing back to reality when a car rolled past and he eased off Mickey and stood up. 

Mickey followed suit and then they began walking again, this time in awkward silence. 

Once they reached the Gallagher home, Ian turned to Mickey. "If you ever don't feel like going home—"

Mickey held up a hand. "I don't want to be your fucking charity case, Gallagher."

Ian smirked. "It wouldn't be charity, Mickey. I'm just saying, if you ever want to just hang out, you know, outside of work…you know I'm always around." 

"When you're not with your bitch, you mean," Mickey muttered sardonically as he stared down at his muddy shoes.

Ian suddenly realized he hadn't thought about Tyler much all night, and he didn't want to dwell too much on what that meant. 

"I'll see ya, Gallagher," Mickey grumbled as he continued on down the street towards his own home.

Ian watched after Mickey until he rounded the corner at the end of the block. He sighed and ran a hand down his face before turning to go inside, thinking maybe he should call his boyfriend to ease his guilty conscience.

Even as he reached for the phone and dialed the number, he still couldn't get the sound of Mickey's laugh out of his head.


End file.
